View Original Document

1998-07-19 LAP 13:28 {Song I didn't sing*}

The air here is stale,
thick and redundant,
caked on my lips,
running like mud
down my throat to my lungs.
I sit here and wonder what gun I should use,
Head full of smoke – time to knock back the blues in a bottle.
Crawl and come into the air that you plastered and painted,
you framed it and tainted the truth of its function.
Build walls out of roses and thorns and
hide me in there, don't fear that the dawn will disrupt.
We're invisible to him,
like the North and East winds,
intangible, more than the light that he brings, and we're brighter.
I'll write my words, huge and red, on canvas skies –
Look up there in the dead of night, and tear the clouds away,
then read what I have written in my fourteen days of agony.
It isn't nice,
you'll see the madness growing with each line and ending of the night.
Tried to get it right, but got it wrong.
Did you hear the line about the lovers in the song I didn't sing?
It was too long.
I didn't want to bore you with my dreams.